Once again, we face the Disney problem. Or rather, I face the Disney
problem. With every new show that Disney has presented on Broadway since
its acclaimed breakthrough hit The Lion King, I have to fight back
the urge to review the reviewers instead of the show. The trouble, to
oversimplify just a bit: I like most Disney shows; the critics hate 'em.

The complaints have become as predictable as the patter for the
villain's henchmen in a Disney cartoon: Disney shows are too big, too
commercial, too over-marketed  not real theater so much as bloated
"theme park" extravaganzas that only children and undiscriminating
tourists could love (though the criticism of Disney's last show, Mary Poppins, was somewhat different; the critics found it too
heavy, not theme-parky enough.) Disney's latest offering  The
Little Mermaid, based on Disney's 1989 animated hit, which opened at
Broadway's Lunt-Fontanne Theatre last week  has received the usual
fusillade. "Washed Up on Broadway," and "Run for the Lifeboats," ran the
New York tabloid headlines. The Times' Ben Brantley, the Scar of the
grump brigade, said he "loathed" the whole wretched thing, including
even the one aspect of Disney shows that usually wins a grudging cheer,
its scenic design. "The whole enterprise," the Times critic sniffed, "is
soaked in that sparkly garishness that only a very young child  or
possibly a tackiness-worshiping drag queen  might find pretty."

That sort of thing makes me wonder whether the critics are actually
sitting in the same theater I am. In fact, the show is notably lacking
in sparkles, and garish is just about the last word I would use to
describe the subtle and airy visual design. A gorgeous color palette of
pastel blues, oranges and pinks. Translucent, lighter-than-air panels,
billowing plastic waves, scepter-like deep-sea sculptures, which manage
to convey not just one undersea world but a host of neighborhoods within
that world. Costumes that manage to be both lush and witty  the
exaggerated, bunched-crinoline hoop skirts on the court ladies, for
example, made me laugh out loud. All in all, it was one of the most
ravishing things I have ever seen on a Broadway stage. For the record, I
am not a drag queen.

But The Little Mermaid is more than just a visual feast. In fact,
I think it comes closer than any Disney show since The Lion King
to combining story, song and inventive staging into something that lifts
our spirits and renews our faith that theater for "children" can be
enjoyed by everyone. Acclaimed opera director Francesca Zambello, doing
her first Broadway show, can't match Julie Taymor's innovative staging
in The Lion King (but then, who can  not even Taymor since
then), but she has the same inventive, less-is-more, determinedly
theatrical approach. Instead of wires and pulleys or complicated stage
effects to simulate the undersea life, she simply equips her fishy
characters with wheelies, which enable them, when they rock back on
their heels, to glide across the stage with an ease that nicely
approximates aquatic movement. And for the couple of times when
characters actually do float  swimming up to the surface or sinking
to the ocean floor  the effort is largely hidden, the effect
breathtaking.

The Little Mermaid doesn't capture all the charms of the 1989
movie, which really launched Disney's latter-day renaissance in
animation. The story about Ariel, a mermaid who longs to be human and
trades in her voice for a chance at the prince of her dreams, is fleshed
out with some uninspired back-story for the prince. The film's great,
calypso-style "Under the Sea" number doesn't have quite the bounce it
did on screen. And Ariel's Jiminy Cricket-like sidekick, the
Jamaican-accented Sebastian the crab, isn't nearly as funny when robbed
of the film's witty animation (despite Tituss Burgess's best efforts in
the role).

But the story itself has more romantic resonance than some of the more
self-important Disney tales. Hans Christian Andersen gets a lot of the
credit for that, but book writer Doug Wright (Grey Gardens, I Am My
Own Wife) at least managed not to screw it up. Composer Alan Menken
(with Glenn Slater replacing the late Howard Ashman as lyricist) has
added several catchy new songs to his already fine score; the
Broadway-razzmatazz number in which the Ursula, the sea witch (a sharp
Sherie Renee Scott), celebrates her evil ways, "I Want the Good Times
Back," would have made the Devil in Damn Yankees jealous. The
young newcomer who plays Ariel, Sierra Boggess, gets to show off a
pretty voice and, once she loses it, some pretty good pantomime skills
too.

Yes, it's a fairy tale, aimed chiefly at children. But would it be rude
to ask why Broadway's fairy tales for adults (Oklahoma!, Guys and
Dolls) can become musical theater classics while the ones directed
at kids become critical dartboards? Or to point out that most of the
children's theater I've seen in the past few years has had more
theatrical verve and originality than most of the serious stuff I've had
to sit through on Broadway? Or to wish, just once, that Disney might get
a little credit for recruiting some of the most adventurous theater
artists in the world to bring new ideas in staging and storytelling to a
mass theater audience, kids and adults alike?